Let Lie the Ghosts
by EstelWolfe
Summary: When Van Helsing is sent on another mission against necromancers, he faces more than he expects, for if good can reach from beyond the grave, what truly constrains evil? Dedicated to Becky, a brilliant friend
1. Chapter 1: Pasts and Plans

Disclaimer: I only own Hugh Jackman in my dreams. As for filling or ignoring plot-holes, that would be one of my fortes.

AN: This is a gift for another member of my graduating class who happens to be obsessed with Hugh Jackman. Please, con crit is very welcome. Have fun. Oh, and also, I speak only a handful of Latin words, so if someone who really does know the language wants to fix it, please be my guest.

**Let Lie the Ghosts**

**Part 1**

XXXXXX

"For those whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven; those whose sins you maintain, they are maintained." -John 20:22

"From everyone to whom much is given, much will be required." -Luke 12:48

"Him hath God exalted with his right hand to be a Prince and a Savior, for to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins." -Acts 5:31

XXXXXX

_Pain. Pain consumed his entire being, those portions of his body that hadn't been strafed by unholy claws burning, writhing beneath the blood that he had shed._

_"Mei dieu, ignosce…" The plea took no conscious thought, no effort, coming as automatically as to his lips as the Latin prayer that he had slurred his way through over the bodies of those slain. No true desire for forgiveness consumed his heart, for forgiveness had already been offered him, offered him from a young tongue impaled by his hand._

_Steps appeared beneath his searching fingers, and a dim sense of having reached a destination threatened to invade his mind, a sense that he quickly thrust aside. There was not meant to be an end to this mindless quest, this penance for his sins, a penance performed on hands and knees long after his body would have laid down to rest or death._

_"Who's there?" The voice that called through the darkness held a faint tremor of fear… and well they should fear. Monsters hunted the night. Monsters and the monster who slew them._

_"My God…" Now more than fear filled the man's voice, awe and terror mixing in even portions. Someone was giving an alarm... not a loud one, such as the villages often had, one that brought people to the edge of madness, driven to fight or flee, but a calm, quiet one, where everyone knew their place and purpose. The whispers of men surrounded him, and he could sense what he could not hear, decades of training having sharpened his senses._

_He made no move to tell them that their fear and preparations were pointless, that the nearest monsters had been vanquished save the one that crawled up their stairs, and that he would be gone soon, as well, simply continuing on the path that he had been set centuries ago, a path that seemed only to grow harder, longer, the further he traveled. Even if he had wished it, his tongue could not have formed the correct words of comfort._

_As quickly as they had come the voices receded, only a single lone whisper, too fast and quiet for him to follow, and the quick patter of two sets of feet upon the stair. He would have ignored it as he ignored the rest, save for the hand that fell upon his shoulder, a hand that brought the pain to a blinding crescendo that dropped him even from his knees, leaving him prostrate before the still-unseen men surrounding him._

_Were these to be his judges, then?_

_"Who are you, son? Who…what… did this to you?"_

_This new voice was forceful but kind, and yet he found himself unable to answer, his thoughts too jumbled to put into speech, only one word residing on his tongue._

_"Ignosce…"_

_"No… oh, Lord, no…" For those few murmured words the forcefulness and control abandoned the voice._

_The same hands took a firm hold of both shoulders, and he couldn't help but whimper slightly at the fire that ran through his body. Eyes that had been closed for what seemed hours found the strength to crack open, to sharpen the jumble of images kneeling above him into one robed figure._

_"Van Helsing…"_

_"He cries tears of blood, just as our Lord did." The hushed comment came from behind, a fearful whisper from the darkness that loomed at the edges of his vision. If he wanted he could have told him that it was not tears of blood, simply rivers of blood, his own running from wounds he had been too slow, too distracted, too overwhelmed to prevent._

_"Van Helsing, what happened?" The same forceful yet kind hands now held his head still, keeping his eyes focused upon the face of the man—the priest—kneeling beside him._

_What had happened? He had failed. Not only had he failed, but he had betrayed his mission, his Sight blinded by his eyes. The darkness was looming far too near for him to explain completely, though, and a half-explanation would not see him properly tried._

_"Ignosce, abba…"_

_The darkness closed completely around his vision, and Van Helsing fell willingly into the cool shadow of unconsciousness._

XXXXXX

It was a steady pounding on the door that welcomed Van Helsing back to consciousness. A week had passed since he and Carl returned from Transylvania, a week in which he had been ordered simply to rest and care for the remaining injuries he had received during Dracula's defeat.

Renewed pounding, far less steady and patient, reminded him that something besides the ending of the latest in a series of disturbing dreams had awoken him.

"Van Helsing, you've got ten seconds to make yourself decent!"

Apparently Cardinal Jinette had decided to ignore for the moment the fact that patience was a blessed virtue.

"Van Helsing?"

He could almost believe that a note of worry had also taken up residence in the priest's voice along with the impatience. Given that even a monster hunter needed more than ten seconds to find and don appropriate attire, Van Helsing simply wrapped the bed-sheet firmly around his waist and padded silently across the room to open the door to his Spartan living quarters.

Cardinal Jinette only wasted a moment's glare at the hunter's scanty attire before launching into the purpose of his visit. "The Order wishes to know if you're ready to resume your duties."

Van Helsing was careful to keep his stance relatively neutral, leaning casually against the wall and watching the cardinal in his peripheral vision. It was the only possibly chance he had of getting any answers. "I've been ready. Most of the injuries were healed by the time Carl and I got back. I was actually rather surprised not to be met at the gate with another assignment. Is there some reason the Order decided to take pity on me?"

"Gabriel, you fought and defeated the monster many men have called the Son of the Devil. You were, for a short time, in very grave danger of falling into the snare of the devil. You slew the woman you loved. These things take time to recover from." The cardinal met the hunter's dark stare for a few moments before looking away. "Carl suggested—_strongly_ suggested—that you be given a short leave of absence. He's become quite devoted to you."

"Carl? Carl was the only reason?" Forceful as the young friar could be when determined, Van Helsing found it difficult to believe that he had successfully stood and argued before the heads of the Order that he had served most of his life.

"If you wish to find other reasons besides charity, please, be my guest. However, in the meantime it would behoove you to listen to the details of what I wish to tell you."

"What's the Left Hand of God?" Van Helsing straightened and moved forward as he spoke, abandoning subtlety. He had never been exceptionally good at it, anyway.

"The what?" Jinette's face displayed none of the hesitancy or uncertainty that Van Helsing had hoped to provoke. For all the shock the cardinal showed, he might as well have asked him what a bird was. In fact, asking what a bird was might have had a far more amusing reaction, at least causing him to wonder for a moment if the famous monster hunter had perhaps taken one too many raps to the skull.

"The Left Hand of God."

"Why do you wish to know?"

This time it was Van Helsing who broke eye contact, spinning around and reaching for one of the satchel's that held his working clothes. He had omitted large parts of his conversations with Dracula from his report, deciding that what the Order didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"My God, Gabriel, what happened to your back?" Jinette moved forward quickly, true concern evident in his voice and face. It was only that concern which allowed Van Helsing to suppress the instinctive urge to dodge and attack, an instinct that, according to Dracula and his dreams, he had been honing for centuries.

The cardinal's hand was cool where it touched his back, but not so cool as the touch of dread that ghosted through Van Helsing's body when the priest thrust up fingertips dabbed with blood.

"Van Helsing, what happened here?"

_The same forceful yet kind hands now held his head still, keeping his eyes focused upon the face of the man—the priest—kneeling beside him._

A quick shake of his head dispelled the memory, leaving only an unsteady feeling in his gut. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

"You don't bleed because of nothing. Did you do this yourself? Is this your idea of penance, Gabriel? To do that which a million demons would gladly do for you?" Jinette's voice increased in volume as he spoke, and it seemed only a supreme effort of will that kept him from striking the taller, more well-built man before him.

For Van Helsing's part, it was only a desire to keep some form of dignity as well as the continued feeling of being off-balance that stayed his hand and kept his voice calm and emotionless. "I did nothing. I've done absolutely nothing since arriving here, when I would gladly be out killing these demons you speak of."

Again a brief but silent struggle of wills waged between the two men, a battle that Van Helsing simply conceded.

"I dreamt again."

Jinette nodded slowly, stepping back. "Of ancient holy wars, like before?"

"No. It was here, on the steps outside. I think… I think it was the night you found me. You knew me from before, didn't you?"

"Only by reputation." Jinette turned away as he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me what you knew?" Righteous anger filled Van Helsing's voice.

"Because the Lord had a purpose in erasing your memory, a purpose we were not going to override with information that was scanty at best and pure falsehood at worst. How much did you remember? Do you remember how you came to be here? That we never knew. You were barely coherent when we found you, and by the time you had healed enough to be coherent any memory you had of what had driven you to us was gone."

"No… it was just a few moments… I was cut, badly…"

Jinette's sigh and nod were accompanied by a small smile. "You're hardly the first person whose scars bleed when they finally remember how they were received, especially not in the Church. Do you still feel willing to accept an assignment?"

Van Helsing's easy grin was almost as uncontrived as before he had gone to Transylvania. "Tell me what it is and how to kill it, then get out of here for five minutes so I can dress decently, and the monster hunter rides again."

XXXXXX

"You… you want me to… but I'm not… I need to be _here_! This is where I work best, not in the field! Everything got so hopelessly behind when we were in Transylvania—"

"Brother, please tell me you're not falling prey to the sin of pride. There are many others here capable of continuing your work."

Carl simply stared in open-mouthed astonishment and, quite possibly, horror as Cardinal Jinette smiled fondly at him.

"I wasn't any use to him last time. What makes you think this time will be any different?" Carl quickened his pace to keep up with the cardinal's steady stride.

"Who determined the secret of killing Dracula, and the way to find his hidden fortress? Who was it that pulled the Valerious girl from Van Helsing's arms in the end? Who was it that kept him sane—or his version of sanity—when many others would have succumbed to the psychic ravages of being a beast and in that form slaying the one they loved? Who was it that begged and pleaded and cursed until the Order conceded that he had seen and done enough, even if only for a small amount of time? You were far far more help than you give yourself credit for."

"But why would he need me now? He's defeated Dracula. I kept him alive for that. I did my duty, as a member of the Order and as his friend. There are so many new experiments I've wanted to try, so many ways I could add to his arsenal—"

Carl nearly toppled over backwards as Jinette stopped and turned with an abruptness that would have done Van Helsing proud.

"Who is the Right Hand of God?"

"Jesus the Chirst, our Lord and Savior, Prince of Peace." The answer rolled automatically from his tongue, and the friar felt his cheeks warm slightly at the cardinal's piercing gaze. What ill belief or intent prompted Jinette to ask what any child remotely versed in Gospel would know?

"Very good, brother. And the Left Hand of God?"

Carl fumbled rapidly through his mind, striving to find any reference to a Left Hand of God, acutely aware that Jinette was waiting patiently, so very patiently, for his answer. "I don't know. The only time I ever saw mentioned the Left Hand of God was on the mural, in Transylvania."

"Which is far more than most men can say." Jinette turned and resumed his steady pace, not even sparing a glance toward the friar that stayed tight by his side. "Van Helsing has been tested once and proven himself worthy. Our Lord does not satisfy himself with one test, though, nor will the Fallen One cease his seduction. The mission itself is simple enough. A band of necromancers has been reported by numerous sources in the southern United States. He will kill the foul creatures."

Carl waited as patiently as he could for Jinette to continue, but the knowledge that he was about to be torn again from his projects and thrust into dangers he was ill equipped to face had done nothing for his already-lacking patience. "And just what part do I play in this? Bait?"

"Van Helsing faces more than necromancers and their evil creations on this hunt. Your orders are the same as before. Keep him alive. If possible, keep him sane. No matter what, bring him home. You might wish to go pack your arsenal, my brother. Gabriel has such limited patience once a goal is set before him."

With a final hurried Latin blessing, Jinette forcibly turned the friar around and urged him back towards his toys, content that all the pieces on the playing board were moving to their proper positions, no matter how reluctantly.

**Latin Translation:**

Mei dieu, ignosce—My God, forgive me.

Ignosce, abba—Forgive me, father.****


	2. Chapter 2: Necromancers

Disclaimer:  If I owned them, would I be this cruel?  thinks  Don't answer that…

AN:  My grandma has terminal cancer and her last wish is to go to Alaska, so the entire family, myself included, is going with her for an indeterminate length of time.  I won't be able to update until we get back.  Sorry, guys.

**Let Lie the Ghosts**

**Part 2**

"Here.  This could be useful."

Van Helsing reached out to catch the crossbow that Carl had tossed his way, balancing it amid the growing pile of arms in his hands, some of which he actually recognized and understood.

"Maybe this.  Please don't drop it."

There was a carelessness, almost an indiscriminate anger in the friar's voice and actions that put the monster hunter on edge as he leaned over quickly to catch the beaker, his armload of weapons threatening to tip over in the process.

"These are completely finished?"  Carl didn't wait for the large priest at the forge, easily a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than him, to answer, instead merely grabbing a sword and dagger and tossing them in Van Helsing's general direction.

Through a remarkable display of acrobatics, the monster hunter was able to catch the hilt of the sword, but the dagger blade nicked his hand before continuing down to bounce off the flagstone floor not half an inch from his foot.

"Did I do something to upset you, something I should be aware of?"

"Whatever do you…"  Carl trailed off in shock, turning to face Van Helsing for the first time since the hunter had appeared in his lab, catching sight of the blood on his hand.

"Usually I have to leave before people start trying to cut off appendages."  Van Helsing kept his tone light, smiling slightly, but it seemed to do nothing to ease the friar's guilt as Carl grabbed a leather satchel from a passing monk and quickly but carefully packed all of the equipment into it.

"Damn it all, Van Helsing, but I'm sorry about this.  I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't."  The monster hunter wiped the blood off his hand, relieved to find it truly was a very superficial injury.  "In fact, according to the cardinal, you're one of the few people around here who enjoys seeing me in one piece."

"That's not true.  The Order is impressed with your work… they just wish you'd bring some of your dead-or-alive assignments back alive rather than dead."

"I don't bring the dead ones back."

"You're hopeless."  Carl's smirk betrayed his tone as he backtracked, snatching two sheaths from near the blacksmith-priest, apparently completely oblivious to the angry stare being directed his way.

"I'm not hopeless, just realistic.  If it's trying to kill me, best if I kill it first.  Speaking of killing things, how is all this…"  Van Helsing gestured to the bulging satchel full of gear.  "Supposed to help me kill a necromancer?"

"Not all of it's for the necromancers.  How much do you know about them?"

"That I'm supposed to kill them.  Or that's what I assume, given that Cardinal Jinette didn't request that I bring any of them back."

Carl's voice took on a peculiar, excited quality that Van Helsing had learned to associate with a lecture.  "A necromancer is a type of mage, a sorcerer, but a very specific type.  They deal with death, and more specifically beings that have died.  Now, a good necromancer will have at least two main types of power, and since they're sending you I'd assume that they're at least decent.  After all, my great-aunt could kill a run-of-the-mill conjurer without breaking a sweat."

Van Helsing's sigh didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm not joking, Van Helsing.  In all known, documented cases of necromancy the necromancers themselves are human.  It's the things they create and command that aren't."

"Things they create?"  Van Helsing rifled through the bag of equipment, taking out the crossbow and hefting it.  Though similar in weight to the one he had used in Transylvania, it had glass vials of liquid on either side of the bolt cartridge.

"Yes, things they create.  And stop tapping that glass!"  Carl grabbed the crossbow from Van Helsing, replacing it in the satchel after throwing a rather murderous glance at the monster hunter.

Not wishing for a more deliberate repeat of the dagger episode, Van Helsing wisely stepped back, his hands folded behind his back.

"As I said before, a necromancer has two main powers.  The first is recalling the spirits of the dead, usually those who have been damned, on occasion those bound in purgatory.  These spirits aren't usually physically dangerous, though the more powerful ones can cause havoc to anyone not within the necromancer's protective circle, but they can wreak mayhem on people's sanity.  They mix truth and lie.  Whatever you do, don't listen to them."

"Power number one: summoning ghosts that need to be ignored.  Check."  Van Helsing couldn't help toying with the friar.

Carl pointedly ignored him.  "It's their second power that can be cause extreme bodily harm.  If provided with a corpse, usually human but on occasion animal, then they can reanimate it.  The corpse has none of the attributes, none of the soul of the person it was before.  It lives, if such can be said, only to serve the one who raised it from the dead.  Zombie and necromancer are bound, though.  Kill the necromancer, the zombies die.  On the other hand, destroy the zombie and the necromancer will know you're there.  Van Helsing, are you listening?"

Van Helsing turned back to the friar, drawing his attention away from a portable version of the machine gun he had tried to finagle the Order into giving him last time.  "I was listening.  Zombies and necromancers connected.  Kill necromancer, zombies not a problem.  How do you kill the zombies without killing the necromancers?"

"They're already dead, and they feel no pain.  Decapitation will send them back to the grave.  Salt will hurt them, and enough will stop them.  And no, in no way shape or form will the automatic rifle be handed over to you, so stop staring at it."

"Is salt somewhere in your collection?"  Van Helsing gestured to the satchel, raising one eyebrow in query.

"As a matter of fact, it is.  And it's also diluted in holy water in the vials attached to the crossbow, so it should coat the bolts when you shoot."

"Should?  You've never tried it out?"

"I've only been back for a week!  I should think you'd be grateful I managed any design improvements at all.  Not to mention all the time I'm going to lose on a trip to the Americas…"

"What?"  Van Helsing grabbed Carl's hand as the friar closed the satchel.

"Didn't they tell you?"  Carl sighed, the sound somewhere between despondent and petulant.  "I'm coming with you."

_"Foolish child.  You think you know so much, and yet you haven't even learned that you can't kill that which isn't living to begin with."_

_Gabriel struggled against the cold hands that held him, hands that belonged to creatures that God would never have countenanced to live, blasphemies of his children._

_"You can do nothing to me, creature of darkness."_

_"Such bravado, my young one.  Wait and see… wait and see…"  The heathen priest in robes of black moved closer as he spoke, pushing his sleeves back from his hands, hands too pale, too slick, almost like those of the dead that held him._

_Struggling against the hands that held him did no good.  He had nothing that could hurt these creatures, had been stripped of all his blessed weapons and defenses._

_Pale fingers trailed down his face, the physical touch gentle._

_"Will you scream for me, Gabriel, as I rip your soul from your body?  Will you scream when I claim both for my own?"_

_He said nothing, fighting the urge to wretch at the touch of the dark priest._

_"Do you think they will scream back, your father and his master?"  The whisper was accompanied by a tightening of the physical hand, and a vicious stab of pain through Gabriel's soul as the creature before him began whispering the words of a rite even more ancient and foul than anything he had ever been prepared for._

_Gabriel screamed._

"Van Helsing?  Van Helsing, wake up."  Carl gingerly poked at the monster hunter's shoulder, not wanting to be on the receiving end of anything painful should he wake up fighting.

Van Helsing's only answer was the same ragged panting that had caught Carl's attention in the first place.

"Van Helsing, come on, wake—"

The monster huter sat bolt upright as Carl jumped away with a low cry, muttering a short prayer for protection as Van Helsing dropped into a defensive position.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

Van Helsing looked around quickly before running a shaky hand through his dark hair, staring hard at Carl.  "Thank you."

"Not a problem.  Are you hungry?  The Captain's sent down some breakfast for us, if you can call it that.  They really do a very poor job of preserving their food."

"Water and bugs, Carl.  Not exactly the best place to keep food."  Still, even Van Helsing looked momentarily put off by the small repast presented by the friar.

"Where do you know Aramaic from?"  Carl looked away as he voiced his question, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

Van Helsing nearly choked on the piece of bread in his mouth.  "Aramaic?  What makes you think…"

"Because you were whispering it, while you were sleeping, before you started trying to hyperventilate.  You said something like 'father, defend me', but I can't be certain.  I never was exceedingly good at Aramaic."

"Carl, I don't know Aramaic.  I know English, most of the other Romance languages, some Latin thanks to the Order, but I don't know ancient tongues."

"Apparently you did."  Carl scratched idly at the wood planking of the vessel.  "You've been having nightmares practically every night of this voyage.  What are you seeing?"

"I don't know.  It feels like a memory, but at the same time it doesn't.  I'm young, very young.  There's a priest, a _dark heathen priest_."  Van Helsing gives a strange twist to the words, irony and sarcasm combined.  "If I didn't know better I'd say he was one of your necromancers.  I'm being held by zombies, and he's doing… something to me.  I'm not sure what."

"Why do you say he's not a necromancer?"

"Because he's dead."

Carl could feel the blood drain from his face as he snapped his eyes up to Van Helsing.  "He's dead?  You're certain?"

"Yes.  What?  Carl, I don't like that look."

Carl shifted nervously.  "There are rumors, myths of necromancers who abandon their mortality and their humanity for greater power."

"Everything we chase is a myth."

"No, you don't understand.  Even within the Order, within the ranks of those who _know_, these are myths.  If such a being existed, it would be extremely powerful, extremely difficult to destroy if not impossible."

Van Helsing straightened, a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth.  "That's what they said about Dracula."

Carl shook his head.  "Dracula was a relatively recent addition to the ranks of the damned.  Tales of this necromancer, this _demon _for lack of a better word, go back far longer.  What do you think this means?  Do you think it means you killed him, before…?"

Van Helsing shrugged.  "Actually, from the way things were going I'd say it means he killed me."

Carl stared blankly at the dark-eyed monster hunter, who set about his breakfast with an intensity that was definitely not merited by the cuisine.

"When do we arrive in the Americas?"

The friar shook himself, calculating quickly in his mind how long they had been gone.  "Three or four days."

"Good."

The rest of the meal was conducted in silence.

"He is coming for us, brothers.  The one who stalks the night would see us ushered to our demise."

The soft voice carried easily over those assembled, the black-cloaked figures all focusing their entire being on the lithe form pacing before them.  No birds called in the muggy night air, no insects hummed their tune of life.  All had long ago learned to stay far away from the dank collection of stones.

"They have sent the wolfhound after the prey, but they are mistaken if they believe we will go quietly.  Never have they seen anything to equal us.  Never has so much raw power been given form, given substance by so great a congregation as ours!

"Let the wolfhound come.  Let him hunt us, let him find us, let him walk willingly into our midst.  The snare is set, brothers."

One pale hand appeared from beneath the cloak, a fist clenched in a salute to victory.

"And this time Gabriel shall be mine."


End file.
